


desiring with supreme ardor

by forlornithologist



Category: True Detective
Genre: ASS ON THE FLOOR, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Gen, goddamn it, im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:05:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forlornithologist/pseuds/forlornithologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts was feeling more like home, class was feeling more like torture, Aurorship was feeling more like a possibility, Marty Hart was a simple man with simple pleasures and a big-ass dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the mask

**Author's Note:**

> i would call myself a trashlord but you knew that already

     Marty Hart was only taking Ancient Runes because he had an open spot in his schedule and he knew that Gryffindors and Ravenclaws both had it first period. There was really no other point to taking the class, he decided as he contemplated pagefuls of stars and spirals.

     “Marty,” said Maggie kindly, tapping her quill against his. “That means ‘time’.”

     Marty scowled and scratched out what he had written. “Stop cheating,” he said.

     “I wouldn't be in Ravenclaw if I needed to cheat off _you_ ,” said Maggie.

     “I know.”

     They smiled at each other, and Maggie looked like she wanted to kiss him, and Marty waited but it didn't come.

 

    Splinching was something that happened to other people. Marty kept that in mind, stomach roiling, and squeezed his eyes shut. He willed himself to apparate across the Great Hall and he heard a loud crack. When he opened his eyes he was outside the Great Hall, standing in front of Lisa Tragnetti. Lisa smiled at him then and Marty smiled back and waited for her to kiss him.

     “Hey Lisa,” Marty said. “You look good.”

     “I have Quidditch practice,” she said. “See you, Marty.”

     Marty attentively watched her go. She had an ass that wouldn’t quit.

     He willed himself to apparate back inside the Great Wall and he heard a loud crack. When he opened his eyes he was back inside the Great Hall and the students all around squealed and murmured about a splinched Hufflepuff. Marty felt a little smug. Splinching was something that happened to other people.

     “You talk to other girls a lot,” said a dark and thrilling voice behind him.

     Marty gave a start and turned around. Behind him stood a lanky boy with a Ravenclaw tie and a prefect pin. Marty was unbothered by the boy’s words but ruffled by his sudden appearance, which he realized he ought to have expected in apparition lessons.

     “Do I fuckin know you?” he said.

     “No. But I know Maggie,” said the boy. His face was unchanging. It looked like a mask. “She know you talk to other girls a lot?”

     Marty took a step forward. “You got some nose.”

     “Eyes, too.” The boy didn’t smile. “I see you have a type.”

     Marty clenched his jaw.

     “I think that’s enough for today,” said the flustered professor as students popped in and out of existence about her. “Remember, splinching is preventable. All it takes is a little concentration.”

     Marty realized he shouldn’t have taken his eyes off the boy, because he was gone now.

     “What a son of a bitch,” he said.

 

     Marty was morally obligated to support Ravenclaw in the match. He was sitting with Maggie, and supporting Slytherin was heresy for Gryffindors. Even so he couldn't help but ogle as Lisa chased the Snitch. The way she straddled that broom was hot.

     He felt eyes on him, and finally glanced guiltily back at Maggie, but she was watching the game and cheering. It was that boy from yesterday who watched him, two rows away, that lanky creep with the thrilling voice and blank face. Judgmental bastard. Marty gave him the finger. He gave the finger right back.

     Marty slung an arm around Maggie’s shoulders, and Ravenclaw scored, and Maggie turned and kissed him.


	2. the eternal feminine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a cheat; a candy basket; in sickness and in health and even in potions class; the smell of the psychosphere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW ABOUT LAST NIGHTS HANNIBAL just kidding i dont even watch the show. i am a deceiver. i didnt sleep last night. this happened. i cant tell you how sorry i am.

     Kids in his own house called Rust Cohle a nut and a wackjob which was something by Ravenclaw standards. Maggie was kinder.

     “He’s withdrawn,” she said, apologetic for some reason.

     “Yeah, well, he’s also a jackass,” Marty grumbled, levitating his toad.

     Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was surprisingly empty, and the the toad’s protestations were loud in the emptiness. Marty let it down.

     Sunlight glowed wanly on Maggie’s face. “So are you,” she said, “You two would get along.”

     “Guy like that,” said Marty, ignoring the insult, “I don’t think he’d get along with anybody.”

 

     Rust didn’t seem to remember how their last interaction went down, because three days later he sat down next to Marty in Ancient Runes.

     Marty looked at him without patience. “Maggie sits there.”

     “Maggie’s sick,” said Rust. He glanced at Marty’s homework. “The answer to number five is ‘ghost’.”

     “‘Ghost’,” scoffed Marty as he hunched himself jealously over his parchment. “That’s stupid.” Scowling, he scratched out what he had written.

     The class was not pleasant but it was not unpleasant either. Rust must have wanted some peace between them, or maybe he just didn’t care, but he let Marty copy his answers, anyway. Rust didn’t acknowledge the under-the-breath _thank you_ , but Marty knew he heard it. When class ended, Rust immediately slid out of his chair and gathered up his books. He stacked them from largest to smallest.

     “Maggie’s in the hospital wing,” he said, “You should go see her.”

     Marty met his eyes steadily. “Of course I’m gonna go see her. She’s _my_ girlfriend,” he said.

 

     Lisa’s lips parted when Marty’s hand slid up her quivering thigh. They smiled at each other. He could not wait and his lips met hers then and their eyes were wide open. Marty lost himself in those blue eyes, and in fair skin and dark hair. He tried not to think too hard about that, but then, he never did. Together they melted into one shape in the dark.

 

     “What’s this?” said Maggie, sitting up in her bed, and with a small smile.

     “Honeydukes’s finest,” said Marty, passing her the basket of candies.

     Maggie twittered and picked through the basket. “You’re sweet,” she said and pulled out a packet of Pepper Imps and tossed it to him, “but not as sweet as Chocolate Frogs.”

     “So, what,” said Marty, “what happened? You’re sick?”

     An unboxed Chocolate Frog croaked. Maggie bit off its head. “I tried to enchant my mirror and ended up giving myself a second head.”

     “Damn. That’s some real shit.” said Marty intelligently.

     Maggie nodded with her single head. “It was. But I’m better now.”

     Marty scratched his neck. “You didn’t miss much. Ancient Runes was a snore. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a snore. It’s been a snore kind of day.”

     Maggie looked at him wisely, nibbling at the Chocolate Frog. “Don’t speak too soon. You still have Potions. Your fly is down.”

     Marty jumped and cupped himself before zipping up. “My eyes are up here,” he said. “Agh, Potions. Remind me why I’m taking N.E.W.T.-level Potions?”

     “Because it’s recommended for anyone who wants to be an Auror,” Maggie said sweetly. “And because you have a Ravenclaw girlfriend to help you study.”

 

     Potions was a snore. Rust Cohle was in that class too, and had the audacity to whip up Amortentia without misstep.

     “That’s good, Rustin,” gushed the professor. He slapped Rust on the back and Rust stood stiffly. “Gather round, class. Rustin, what do you smell?”

     Rust leaned in and sniffed the steaming cauldron. “I don’t smell anything.”

     The professor’s smile faltered. “Martin, what about you?”

     Marty shuffled forward and sniffed curiously. “I smell coffee, spaghetti, and,” There was something else, something stale and crumbly, “...flowers.”

     The professor beamed. “That’s good, Martin,” he said, “Amortentia produces scents we find appealing. It varies from person to person. It’s the strongest potion in the world, mind you, so don’t sniff too long.”

     The class cycled around Rust’s cauldron peering into its swirl and sniffing at its fumes. Rust stepped away, folding his arms.

     Marty sidled up to him. “Why didn’t you smell anything?”

     Rust shrugged. “I smell lots of things. I can go without huffing a love potion.”

     Marty wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to give the most aloof fuckin answers for honest questions, but his newfound olfactory appreciation was distracting. Rust smelled like cigarettes.

     “Stop sniffing me,” said Rust.

     “I wasn’t,” lied Marty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "uh huh honey"


	3. the melodious lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a witting accomplice; an excuse; a boy; a witting accomplice 2: this time it's personal; a creature native and indued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought i had gotten over my habit of accidentally calling rust "rusty" but typing this shit proves i didnt. takes me back to the days......the warrior cat days...

     Everyone else was in bed. Maggie dabbed at her eyes violently with his handkerchief. “Do you know if it’s true?”

     Rust lit a cigarette. He hated to see Maggie’s tears. “I don’t.”

     Maggie cleared her throat, looked out the window at the dark sky and the dark grass. “I want so bad for it to not be true,” she whispered, “but _they said_ —Beryl Broomfly and Mandy Townley and Daedala May—they said it’s some _Slytherin_ girl. Some _fourth-year_.”

     Rust took a drag and pressed his head against the cool window.

     Maggie inhaled and she wanted to say more and Rust waited but it didn't come.

     “He does love you,” he said, after a moment. Maggie always smelled like flowers.

 

     Maggie didn't check Marty’s homework and resultantly he failed like a little bitch.

     “This shit is rigged,” he said, dumbfounded as the students’ graded parchments were floated back to them.

     “Of course it’s rigged, Marty,” said Maggie coolly. “Anything you can’t cheat on is _rigged_.”

     Marty smiled. “I missed my study buddy last night.”

     Maggie smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. “Herbology. I had to check on my Mandrakes.”

     Marty pointed his wand at the parchment. “ _Evanesco_ ,” he said quietly. It poofed away, never to be seen again he hoped.

     Maggie gathered her books against her chest. “I’m going to go study,” she said. “I have a test in Muggle Studies after lunch.”

     “Oh, okay.” said Marty. “Have fun.”

 

     Lisa noticed him a desk in front of her. Arithmancy was not his strongest subject, and he gnawed on the end of his quill in consternation. He had dark hair. He was cute. The professor was out of the room, so Lisa kicked his chair.

     “Hey,” she hissed, “Need some help?”

     He twisted around in his seat. His tie was yellow and black (Hufflepuff, _cute_ ). His parchment was blank. “Yeah,” he said gratefully, and looking relieved.

     After class they kissed in a secluded hallway. He was not desperate, like Marty, but he was warm and generous. Lisa felt herself blush and laid her hands on his shoulders. She was not shy; she had always known what she wanted, but now withdrew from him and cast down her eyes, demure. He was standing on his tip toes. She exhaled sharply through her nose, not wanting to laugh, and he waited for her to kiss him again.

 

     Apparition was not a snore. Splinching was definitely something that happened to other people. Marty snapped about the Great Hall with loud cracks in rapid succession.

     “Slow down, motherfucker,” said Rust to him, “You’re giving everyone tinnitus.”

     “You can’t slow this down, motherfucker," said Marty.

     They exchanged one-finger salutes before apparating away at the same time.

     When Marty reappeared a second later and standing on a table, he frowned. “Should’ve asked him about Maggie,” he said.

     Behind Maggie there was a loud crack as Rust dropped into being. Maggie threw her book at him. “You gave me a heart attack.”

     Rust caught it easily and thumbed the dogeared pages. “Your boyfriend is giving everyone tinnitus,” he said because Maggie hadn't heard him the first time he’d said it and he thought it was clever.

     Maggie’s smile withered and she smoothed her skirt. “What have you heard?”

     Rust shifted his gaze. She looked so unhappy. “Nothing. I wouldn't worry.”

     Maggie bit her lip. “Do you think it’s just a rumor?”

     “Can’t say,” said Rust, she looked so _unhappy_ , “I think you should let it go.”

     Maggie nodded and Rust handed her the book. She pressed the book into her lap, breathing deeply. “I think I will. Thank you.”

 

     Rust bowed his head against the door. “ _Scrubbing bubbles_ ,” he said to it. There was a click—unlocked, and he opened it, slipping inside the prefects’ bathroom.

     He looked at himself in the mirror. He lit a cigarette and held it in his hands because he didn't really feel like smoking. He looked closer at himself in the mirror.

     He drew a bath in the enormous tub and did not take off his clothes but sank down in the high and hot water. His robes billowed around him and pulled him deeper into the drink. A thick snow of bubbles came foaming and he sank himself down further, blowing moodily at the suds. He wished he would drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this looks so much longer on ms word


	4. vinegar to wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> practice; a pine wand; the happy couple; who is able to stand before envy?; some gossip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine, if you will: rust cohle, street magician

     Marty wasn’t showing off for Maggie but if he threw a couple of needless corkscrews into his warm-up lap around the pitch it wasn’t his fault if she was seduced. He had bewitched his broom with a speed charm and it went like a stabbed rat. He swatted at a Bludger with his bat, looked down at Maggie. She was in the bleachers practicing turning vinegar into wine, not watching him, and the sun was warm, and Marty steered his broom down. He hovered level with Maggie.

     “Can I help you?” she said. The corners of her mouth turned up; the vinegar was wine.

     “Just lookin to spend time with my beautiful girlfriend,” said Marty, “Hop on. I’ll take you for a ride.” He gestured at the length of the broom.

     “Do you feel good about that, Marty?” asked Maggie, about the innuendo. “Was it worth it?”

     Marty raised his eyebrows at her because the answer was obvious.

     Maggie stood up and stretched luxuriously. “I,” she said, “have to go work on the Ancient Runes essay.” Marty circled her on his broom, making fake snoring sounds at her. “You,” she said, “have to practice. Hufflepuff game tomorrow.”

     “Maggie, it’s gonna be easy as pie.” said Marty sincerely. “Their captain got suspended for three games for fighting. They replaced him with a _fourth-year_.”

     Maggie tucked away her wand and picked up the flask of wine. “Then it sure would be embarrassing if you lost.”

 

     “ _Incendio_ ,” said Rust, tipping his pine wand at the end of his cigarette. It crackled with orange light and tasted like a gas station smelled.

     He watched Lisa Tragnetti and Benvolio Price walk together. He watched from the window, and they were on the grounds below, and heading toward the Quidditch pitch, arm in arm, leaning into each other too heavily. They stumbled around on their awkward lovers’ feet and laughed themselves drunk. Rust sipped at smoke.

     The rest of the team had gone to the lockers. Marty buzzed around the pitch. _Like a bat out of hell_ , he thought, wind in his ears. He saw a Bludger bobbing violently at the other end of the pitch. With one hand he guided his broom toward it and with the other he raised his bat, ready to swing. He saw Lisa Tragnetti on the grass below, and she walked with a boy her age, a Hufflepuff, short and dark-haired and grinning too widely.

     “What the _fuck_ ,” said Marty.

     He heard her laugh like bells and then he couldn’t hear anything but the rush of air. His eyes were murder and he flew to the Bludger and he struck it fiercely and it blasted down and hit the Hufflepuff boy in the head and knocked him flat. Lisa screamed. Marty stared at them. Lisa shrieking and clutching the boy. The boy limp and doll-like in her grip. Marty breathed again.

     “Shit!” he said. He kicked at the broom, rocketed down to them.

     Lisa looked up then and was wild. “Did you do this Marty!” she roared, “Did you do this!”

     Marty’s heart was pounding but now swelled with anger. “What were _you_ thinking!” he snarled, “Prancing around here with your new boytoy! Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

     “You two-timing fuck,” she hissed, “You’re not getting away with this!”

     “She’s right, Marty,” said a dark and thrilling voice behind him. Rust Cohle grabbed Marty by the back of his robes and hauled him off the broom and dumped him in the grass.

     “Tragnetti,” said Rust evenly, “Take this broom. Take him to the hospital wing.”

     Lisa accepted the broom, then leaned down and spat at Marty.

     “Get lost,” said Rust.

     She piled her boyfriend onto the broom and climbed on herself and flew away and did not look back.

     Marty felt low and so he stayed on the ground, unwanting to get up.

     “Brother,” said Rust, “You’ve got some aim.”

     Marty rolled onto his back, slowly. “Thanks.”

     Rust looked at him sideways, fitting a new cigarette between his teeth and charming it to light. “Shut the fuck up. 100 points from Gryffindor.”

 

     It was a miracle that no one knew what had happened. What students passed around in furtive looks and invisible ink notes was that a Gryffindor had fired a hex at a Slytherin and that a Hufflepuff got in the way, which suited Marty just fine.

     “Do you know who it was?” asked Maggie, eyes gleaming.

     “No, uh, no idea.” said Marty, rolling up his Transfiguration homework.

     Claire Tennyson dropped her plate beside Marty’s. “The kid who got hit was Benvolio Price. He’s Hufflepuff’s temporary Quidditch captain.”

     “Shit,” said Marty.

     “Was he hurt?” said Maggie.

     “Nothing Madame Lovejoy couldn’t fix,” said Claire, “but they don’t know if he’ll be ready for the match.”

     Marty picked at his food. “You hear anything else?”

     Claire shook her head. “Just that we lost 100 points for it, can you believe it?”

     Maggie smiled behind her glass of milk. “Fine by me if Gryffindor gets cut down to size.”

     Claire stabbed at her food. “It’s gonna take forever to make that up. Whoever docked us those points had better hope I don’t find him.”

     Lisa tasted acid when she saw Marty in the Great Hall, piddling with his dinner and talking to girls. Maggie Herbert was too good for him. Was he seeing Claire Tennyson, too? Lisa sawed her food, cold to her stomach, heart twisted up and sick with fury. Slytherins around her hummed with hearsay. She watched Marty, her eyes unmoving, baleful.

     Rust ate alone not because he had to but because he didn’t mind being alone, same as he didn’t mind company, but it was easier this way, anyhow, and the food was without flavor when he thought of what he had seen. He pushed his plate away. The gossip in the Great Hall was one babbling voice, the crowd one writhing black spider of robes and wands.

     Maggie returned to the Ravenclaw table, and sat across from Rust. “Did you hear?”

     “Of course,” he said.

     “What do you think?”

     “I think,” said Rust, a bit shyly at first because he wasn’t asked that often, “at this rate, Ravenclaw will win the House Cup.”

     Maggie smiled a cat’s smile. “That’s a good point.”

     Rust averted his eyes, afraid when he felt his heart beat.


	5. too close to the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre-gaming; hell hath no fury; waxmelt; the unbalanced scales; a smokesmell martyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whilst watching true detective, did you enjoy the layers of motifs? did you enjoy the terrified philosophical ramblings of a man too close to the edge for everyone else's comfort? would you like to read something by the author that has inspired true detective creator niccolo pizzalatte?
> 
> read Watchmen by alan moore. it is so good.

     The gameday ententes were unusual. Hufflepuffs walked with a grim air past Gryffindors, and with gaggles of Slytherins following. Ravenclaw was split in half.

     (“Who are you rooting for?” said Marty over his cauldron.

     Rust didn’t look up from his brew. “Sports are the writing on the wall. Tragedies. Pastimes--obsessions. People don’t even know they’re part of the show.”

     “Christ,” said Marty, “I’ll put you down for ‘undecided.’”)

     Maggie walked Marty to the locker rooms. Rust trailed awkwardly behind them, walking with a steady gait but slowly as if he lived two seconds ago from everyone else. They stopped outside of the doors, Marty holding Maggie and accepting her kiss. Rust hung back.

     “Win it,” said Maggie.

     Marty pressed his smile to her lips. “I will.”

 

     Lisa sat silently in the bleachers. She watched the players kick off and soar around the pitch. She saw Benvolio, who elicited great applause when he passed. She saw Marty, hugging to his broom as he took position. With deliberation she drew her wand from her robes.

     Marty very consciously aimed the Bludgers at everyone but Benvolio Price. The Seekers wove between the players, at times locked in eagle spins after the Snitch. Marty whacked a Bludger away from himself and into a Hufflepuff, who spun on her broom dizzily. As if in response, his own broom rocked under him. He hunkered down over it.

     “Whoa,” he said. It quavered but another Bludger whirred near and Marty straightened up to hit it. He hit the Bludger but didn’t see where it went because his broom thrashed.

     “Fuck!” he said, dropping his bat to grab the broom as it bucked under him.

     The fast-talking commentator Charlie Lange saw him. “Looks like Gryffindor Beater Marty Hart is havin some trouble stayin in the air!” he said gleefully, “Hang in there Marty!”

     Marty was rolled off the broom and hung on by his fingertips and the broom whipped back and forth crazily and Marty kicked at the air in anger and in fear. He heard his teammates yell for him, he saw Benvolio Price’s gloved hand outstretched, and the broom plummeted.

     “Fuck!” he yelled again swinging boneless from the broom. It stopped and at the sudden shock of it Marty let go. He tumbled like a ragdoll toward the ground.

 _“Arresto Momentum!”_ shouted the referee below, breaking Marty’s fall. He hit the grass solidly but not as blood-spatteringly as he would have. He heard screams all around, and someone turned him over and in his daze he saw a blue-and-bronze tie hanging down from them.

     “Maggie,” he said.

 

     Lisa raced down the hall, her shoeslap the only noise in the dusty corridor.

     She slowed when she rounded the corner and saw Rust Cohle standing outside the infirmary, sphinx-like.

     “How is,” she said breathlessly, “How is he.”

     Rust leaned against the doors with his arms crossed and a hip cocked. “He's awake.”

     “Can I see him?”

     He regarded her with a look half of boredom and half of contempt, saying, “His girlfriend is with him right now. You still want to see him?”

     Lisa’s eyes dropped to Rust’s feet. She pursed her lips. “I just meant to scare him,” she said, “He wasn’t supposed to fall.”

     Rust produced a cigarette and took it in his mouth and lit it with his wand. “You wanted revenge. That’s human.”

     She nodded, but a few quick tears ran down her cheeks. “No one knows it was him that hit Benvolio.”

     “You wanted justice. That’s divine.”

     She nodded at that too.

     He said, “The way I see it, and you see it, Marty had that comin. Justice is served. But that justice wasn’t yours to deliver.”

     Lisa hastily wiped away a tear. “Yeah?”

     “It was Benvolio’s. Now, Marty’s got beef with you, that's your problem. But if Marty takes a shot at some boy for it, that’s _their_ problem. You made it messy.”

     Lisa sniffed. “I wanted to clean it up. I didn’t mean to,”

     Rust’s voice grew colder as he spoke. “I know you didn’t mean to. But you did. And we all gotta pay our dues, Lisa.”

     Lisa nodded vigorously and took a deep breath. “I’ll tell them it was me. No more vigilante payback.”

     Rust looked straight into her eyes. “They’ll make you quit your team. News’ll get out. Everyone will hate you.”

     Lisa rocked on her heels. “I know. But if there’s any justice, maybe they’ll hear about Marty, too.”

     “Doubt it,” said Rust, no longer bothering to meet her gaze. “Now fuck off.”

     Lisa opened her mouth, then spun around and walked away.

     Rust waited for the patter of her feet to die off, and he opened the infirmary door and slid in.

     Maggie sat on the bed next to Marty’s. When Rust approached, Marty smiled a little.

     “You know I woke up, saw Maggie, thought I died and went to heaven,” he said. “But if you’re here I guess when I hit the ground I went straight through to the other place.”

     “That’s not very nice, Marty,” said Rust, standing at the foot of his bed. “I carried you here.”

     Marty shifted under his blanket, studying the bedframe and furrowing his brow.

     “Did they say what happened?” Maggie asked.

     “They’re stripping the broom down now,” said Rust.

     Marty squinted at Rust’s cigarette. “Smell’s gonna give me a headache,” he said, pointing at it. It made the whole room stale and crumbly.

     “Oh, sorry, man,” said Rust, sucking in one last poisoned breath before putting the cigarette out on the palm of his hand and not cringing at the pain.

     Marty’s eyes bugged out. “The fuck? You _trying_ to make me uncomfortable?”

     Maggie who was used to Rust put her hand on Marty’s arm. “Yes, Marty,” she said. “He carried your fat ass to the hospital wing because he’s trying to make you uncomfortable.”

     Marty looked at her. “My body broken beyond all belief and you’re givin me shit.”

     Maggie patted him. “Get some rest,” she said and stood up.

     Rust said, “Work on your Ancient Runes essay while you’re in bed, Marty.”

     Marty wasn’t much for words, so he packed everything he wanted to say into an extended middle finger.


	6. a midnight lyre and a bell-frog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the sentence; an opportunity; snores are forever; detention and a trunk and a drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as of right now...mine is the only fanfiction with the tag "ass on the floor"...lets keep it that way

     A day later Marty was released from the hospital wing and Maggie waited for him outside the doors.

     “Prof says you don’t have to turn in the essay today,” she told him, “But you have to by the end of the week.”

     Marty rolled his shoulders. “Guess I should start writing, then.”

     With humor: “Maybe.”

     When they reached the staircase they almost ran into Headmaster Tuttle, a large man who always walked with purpose and a humble smile.

     “Marty Hart,” he said.

     “Headmaster Tuttle,” said Marty.

     Maggie’s eyes cut between the two as if she didn’t know which to watch.

     “Maggie, why don’t you go to class,” said Tuttle. “Walk with me, Marty.”

     He put his hand on Marty’s shoulder and turned him around and Maggie gave Marty one last uncertain glance before leaving.

     “We did a strip-down of your broom,” said Tuttle.

     Marty nodded in the solemn way he nodded at all things adults told him that he knew already.

     “There was a Hurling Hex on it,” continued Tuttle, his smile too pleasant and eyes too placid. “A girl came forward and said she cast it. She’s been given detention for the next fortnight.”

     “Ok,” said Marty, with a good idea who it was.

     “We found something else,” said Tuttle. He had led Marty back down the corridor and around the corner and now he stopped. “A speed charm. It makes the broom go faster.”

     Marty wanted to point out that was a known side effect of speed charms but he bit his tongue.

     “I don’t think that girl put a speed charm on your broom along with a Hurling Hex. Do you?”

     Marty braced himself but could not look at the headmaster. “No.”

     “Did you bewitch your broom, Marty?”

     “It was...I was practicing charms, I, I must have forgotten I left it on...”

     “Even so,” said Tuttle. “That is a grave foul. You’ll have detention for the rest of the week, and you’re suspended for three games.”

     Marty ground his teeth. “Yes sir.”

     The smile never left Headmaster Tuttle’s face, and now he slapped Marty on the back. “Good boy. Get to class.”

 

     Claire’s jaw dropped. “Three games! The Hufflepuff captain got suspended three games for _fighting!_ All you did was leave some charm on your broom!”

     Maggie chewed her broccoli thoughtfully. “Did you just ‘leave it on’, Marty?” she said.

     “Yes,” he said defensively.

     “And a whole week of detention? How are you gonna get your essay done?” said Claire.

     Rust Cohle came with his plate and sat down next to Maggie. “Don’t worry,” he said, “He worked on it while he was in bed. Right, Marty?”

     “Prick,” said Marty.

     Maggie put her hand over Marty’s. “Think of it as an opportunity. Get your grades back up, talk to some professors about interning at the Ministry over the summer.”

     Marty snorted. “Aurors don’t _just_ care about grades like you do, Maggie, they want leaders. I can’t lead if I’m not on the pitch doin my thing. This is bullshit.”

     Maggie withdrew her hand. “Just a suggestion,” she said airily.

 

     “You don’t want to hear about all this shit,” said Marty. “I mean, it’s a snore.”

     Gilbough scooted back in his chair. “Sure we do.”

     Marty slid the mug back and forth on the table, contemplating cold coffee. “Nah. I’ll cut straight to the good stuff. Quidditch and shit, you don’t want to hear about all that.”

     Gilbough’s eyes were friendly but too smart. His smile reminded Marty of Tuttle’s: constant, condescending. “Please,” said Gilbough earnestly. “Spare us no detail.” He waved his wand and the mug refilled with hot coffee.

     Marty huffed out a breath and drank the coffee (and burned his tongue too but the detectives didn’t need to know that) and made a squinty senile look even though he was not yet very old.

     “Let’s see,” he said. “Seventh year. Rust and I got our Apparition licenses with a bunch of sixth-years—I failed my test the year before, don’t know what his excuse was...hum, well seventh year I got that week-long detention and of course the professor sent a prefect to _supervise_.”

 

     A small group of students scattered themselves around the classroom. Marty sat in the desk in the farthest corner from the door and rocked back and forth on his chair with its uneven legs. He saw Lisa who sat in the front row and the farthest from him but if she saw him she gave no sign of it. The other students served to fill the places where he and Lisa were not. Everyone looked at the ceiling and floor and anywhere but each other. They waited.

     The door swung open. In walked Rust Cohle, with a notebook in his hand and a quill tucked behind his ear.

     “Professor Theriot’s in a meeting,” he said to them, “He sent me to _supervise_.”

     Marty looked to the ceiling and said to God under his breath, “Why have you forsaken me.”

     Standing in the front of the classroom Rust looked slight and rumpled. “We’re supposed to take this shit,” here he indicated the stacks of boxes beside him, “to Theriot’s Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. No magic. Lot of fun.” He swayed on his feet and looked at the students with unbecoming irony. “Any questions?”

     There were no questions, and so the students single file began carrying the crates and briefcases full of who-knows-what out the door, like a miserable trail of worker ants. Marty was last in line. He chose the longest and heaviest trunk and dragged it to the stairwell. He looked up and realized three flights of stairs was a long way without magic.

     “I got you, Marty,” said Rust walking forward and with breath like mouthwash and roses.

     “I can do it,” said Marty, partly out of pride and partly because he didn’t trust Rust to walk up three flights of stairs without puking.

     “Alright,” said Rust, “alright alright.” Then ignoring Marty he set down the clipboard and grabbed one end of the trunk and started pulling it up the staircase. Marty sighed exaggeratedly to display his annoyance but grabbed the other end of the drunk and helped him.

     They had made it up two flights when Rust stopped and puked and dropped his end of the trunk. The sudden weight bowled Marty over and he rolled down a few steps but the trunk slid past him. When it reached the landing it clattered open and turned up on one end and tottered on the edge of the next staircase before falling down that too. The thunderous noises echoed for a few seconds more before they ended because there were no more stairs for the trunk to fall down.

     Marty lay limply on the stairs feeling at once vindicated and like a moron.

     “Marty?” said Rust in a strange small voice. Marty heard the frantic thump-thump of approaching feet and felt Rust grab his shoulders and start shaking him.

     “Marty!”

     Marty didn’t open his eyes. _Let him think I’m dead,_ he thought. _Serves the bastard right_.

     “Marty,” said Rust weakly. “Oh, fuck—”

     “I’m alive, jackass,” said Marty before Rust could cry like a bitch. Rust waited for Marty to open his eyes and when he did Rust looked at him intensely for a moment before letting go and stepping away.

     “What did you go and do that for!” said Marty.

     Rust wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning over the railing to stare down at where the trunk had gone. He was quiet. “Got drunk.”

     “No shit! What did you go and do _that_ for!”

     Rust was working hard to compose himself but his shoulders were heaving. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

     Marty sat up and dusted his pants off, feeling a bit sorry himself. “It's—ok, man.”

     “Shit,” Rust said, ignoring Marty's reply, retreating from the rail, pulling out his wand.

     “What?”

     “There was something in that trunk.”


	7. hamlet and his problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what the trunk held; narrenwelt; the old man and the baby; what drives us to drink; bauerwelt; the consequence of the hurling hex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please everyone go follow @actualrustcohle theyve tweeted like twice but i will never unfollow

     Rust took the steps two at a time. Marty hustled after him. Rust jumped the last few and stumbled to a landing, staggering to the open trunk and looking like he would melt into vomit and dread if he took another step.

     “It’s not in there,” he said, glancing at Marty and glancing all around them.

     “What’s not in there,” said Marty. He pulled out his wand as well.

     “Good question,” said Rust, looking at something behind him.

     Marty turned slowly.

 

     Maggie was alone as she always felt, sitting in bed and doing her homework. Ancient Runes took longer than the other subjects. She frequently had to look up the symbols, and there was never a glossary entry for “like a squiggly bird, or maybe fish”.

      _Opportunity_ , she wrote under the inky hatching denoting runic Narrenwelt. She looked out the window, and it was sunset outside, and she sighed, thinking of someone. She rolled up her parchment and closed her eyes. When she opened them again an owl was fluttering hysterically at the window.

     “Oh!” said Maggie, leaping out of bed to open the window. The owl flew in and perched on Maggie’s bedpost. She retrieved the small parchment tied to its leg.

      
  1. _Was that the Rust Cohle at lunch today?_
      
  2. _If so, can you hook a girl up?_



      _Regards,_

      _Claire_

     Maggie laughed aloud.

      _Dear Claire,_

      _It’s nice to hear from you too. I can totally set you up. But if you’re just looking for a side fling, I won’t. I don’t think he’s into that. You have to promise you’ll take him to Madame Puddifoot’s and the library, and that you won’t feed him after midnight._

      _Sincerely,_

      _Maggie_

     Maggie rolled up her letter and tied it to the owl’s leg and sent it back out the window. She rolled back onto her bed. She rolled over on her side and smiled to herself and was sad then, thinking of someone.

 

     It was like him. But it was taller, and redder, and flesh dribbled down the face, and there was bone underneath, a full-tooth grimace, eyes without. It lurched forward. Marty saw it, and he trembled.

     “Marty,” said Rust tensely, “It’s a boggart.”

     Marty stared at it, and it stared into him, eyes without.

     “Use _Riddikulus,_ man,” said Rust.

     Marty did not move. It stared into him. It was like him. Maybe it _was_ him. It was alone, ugly, dying, _eyes without_ —

     Rust shoved him to the side and leveled his wand at it. It whirled into something else. It was a baby now. It was like him, but milk-white and burbling and with eyes. The eyes were striking, because they were empty and happy. Rust’s hand shook and the wand in it. The baby cooed.

      _“Riddikulus!”_ he said. With a crack a fluffy tutu exploded outward from the baby’s soft body.

      _“Riddikulus!”_ he said again voice breaking and a tassled tricycle appeared underneath  the ballerina boggart.

      Then Rust grabbed Marty and clung to him and puked over his shoulder.

      “Was that a tap-out?” said Marty, who was reeling from his encounter but couldn’t believe Rust Cohle’s greatest fear was a _baby_. Rust shuddered against him and maybe Marty imagined it but he thought he felt Rust claw tighter at his upper arm like fear and loathing before the drunkling peeled himself away.

      When Marty approached, the boggart whipped itself into a riot of spanish moss and fingers. He saw it try to mold into the red body with the wet bone face but it was confused now and could only issue an assembly of gnashing teeth.

      _“Riddikulus!”_ said Marty, heart quick, wand high. There was a crack and the teeth scattered to the ground.

      _“Riddikulus!”_ he said again strong-voiced. Flowers bloomed from the writhing moss. It squirmed in the air for a moment before blowing out in a wisp of smoke, like a snuffed candle.

     Marty looked at Rust, who stood back with one hand gripping his wand and the other hand over his mouth.

      “Boggarts, man,” said Marty stupidly.

 

      Papania was losing patience. Cohle had drifted again. Cohle was looking at something behind him. _Cohle_ was a gigantic drugged-up pain in the ass.

     "That was the first time I got drunk,” said Cohle at last, in his detached way that made it sound like despair had a voice and it was a chain-smoker’s voice at that. “First of many.”

      Gilbough’s face never changed, and Papania hated him for it.

     Cohle sat back in his chair and said, “It wasn’t the first time I had a drink. But it was the first time I got drunk.”

      Papania did not drink. His father was an alcoholic. He only drank wine at church. He said, “Why?”

      Cohle stared into him. “Why not?”

     Papania was ready for fisticuffs. This man was a master of non-answers.

      Cohle conjured up a cigarette with a snap of his fingers. “Truth be told,” he said to them, lighting the cigarette and staring right through into something else, “I didn’t have a single damn reason to get drunk. But I did. Ain’t that strange.”

           

      Detention finished without ceremony. After Rust had vomited twice he went a bit back to normal—normal for him—and dismissed the students once the last boxes had been carried to the room. Lisa left quickly. She didn’t want to spend any more time around Marty than she had to. Marty stayed behind as the students drained from the classroom.

      “I’ll take you back to Ravenclaw Tower,” he said to Rust.

     Rust didn’t speak but fumbled in his pockets for something.

      “Behind your ear,” said Marty.

      Rust reached behind his ear and found his quill there and began scribbling in his notebook.

      “I’ll take you back to Ravenclaw Tower,” said Marty.

     Rust vanished the notebook and quill. He turned on his heel and walked out the door.

      “Hey!” said Marty, chasing after him. He took Rust’s arm and held him against the wall. “Fucker! I was talking to you.”

     Rust made no move to dislodge him. “Let go.”

     Marty leaned away but did not loosen his grip. “You gonna tell me what your problem is?”

     “Looks like only one of us has a problem here, man.”

     Marty let him go. “You got drunk at school, your worst fear according to a boggart is a _baby_ , you’ve got selective mutism, and _I’m_ the one with the problem? Fuck, Rust, I’m just w—I just wanna know what your problem is."

     Rust was silent for a moment. Then: “I’m surprised you know what selective mutism is.”

     “Fuck you!” said Marty. “I’ll take you back to Ravenclaw Tower.”

     They went to Ravenclaw Tower. Rust answered the entry riddle with some cryptic bullshit. The door slid open and there was a moment where Marty was sure he would say his goodbyes and leave but instead he followed Rust into the vacant Common Room. Rust sat down heavily at a table with a chessboard on it. He sat on the side favoring the white pieces. Marty, unsure of himself and out-of-place, sat down on the other side.

     “You play?” said Rust.

     “No,” said Marty, “Uh, checkers. And poker.”

      “This game’s no good anyway,” said Rust. “Missing the royals, the bishops, the rooks, the knights.”

      _The tall ones, the pointy ones, the castles, the horses._ Marty looked down and saw it was true. Rust took a pawn and slid it forward. Marty countered with his own.

 _What the fuck are we doing,_ he thought. Rust contemplated the board. Marty said, “You look ready for a soliloquy."

     “Monologue,” said Rust, “But nice try.” He captured one of Marty’s black pawns. “My father—”

     Maggie emerged yawning from the stairs leading to the dorms. “Marty,” she said, “You’re in _our_ Common Room. And it's dark.”

      “I knew they put you in Ravenclaw for something,” said Marty good-naturedly. Maggie walked over and kissed the top of his head.

     Rust watched them and moved one of Marty’s pawns for him and was thinking of someone.

 

     The light in the Great Hall was dewy white with morning and Lisa ate her breakfast alone as she always felt. She had not spoken to Benvolio in a week. Across the Great Hall, two tables and a universe apart, Marty Hart was eating with his girlfriend and their friends Rust Cohle and Claire Tennyson and they all sat close together like they had no regrets or maybe just couldn’t remember them at the time. Lisa’s oatmeal was cold. She closed her eyes.

      “Students,” called Headmaster Tuttle over the noise, “If you are in detention, today you will report to Groundskeeper Childress’s hut.”

     Marty talked with his mouth full. “Thank God I’m done with my detentions. Can you imagine spending your schoolnights with that creep?”

     Lisa pushed around her oatmeal. “One more week,” she said to herself, without anyone else to say it to.


End file.
